An Honest Elf
by meganichan04
Summary: Ever wanted an insider's opinion on the Fellowship? Legolas tries to tell it like it is, by way of his journal. Legolas' pov
1. Fellowship of the Ring

**Author's Note:** Hello, everyone! Wow, I'm so excited! This is the first fic I have posted that isn't anime based. (Sad, isn't it?) Yay for expanding horizons! Anyhow, I wrote this quite some time ago, and I have revised the crap out of it since then. I tried to do at least one entry from every important scene in the movie. Here's to hoping you all enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** The Lord of the Rings and all characters and places related to it are the property of Professor Tolkien, and the New Line Cinema people who made them into a really top-notch movie saga. I am indeed honored to spoof it.

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Dear Diary;

I have finally arrived in Rivendell! It was the most wonderful trip, quiet and peaceful. No brothers teasing me, no Daddy yelling at me – wonderful.

Rivendell is just as beautiful as everyone says it is. Lord Elrond was very nice to me. I hope we can be friends. His daughter Arwen is very nice as well. She showed me around and introduced me to the little halfling that lived in Daddy's palace right under his nose for several months. Bilbo is very amusing, and he seems to think quite highly of Daddy. Obviously he does not know Daddy very well.

Anyhow, niceness aside, I am greatly looking forward to the council meeting. Aragorn tells me they have located the One Ring – this should be quite exciting.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

I think I am going on a trip.

A few of the younger Rivendell elves looked me up for a drinking party last night, and I gladly went. It was great fun. But, well, you know I'm not the best at holding my liquor... At one point the topic of the One Ring came up, and I had something to say on the subject. I got up onto the table in my underwear, waving my glass and spilling wine all over the place. I think I said something to the tune of, "I'll go straight to Mordor, climb that tower, and bitch-slap that eye til it spins!"

That was all in fun, of course (at least, I think it was), but apparently Lord Elrond didn't see it that way. He happened by with his camera phone, and made good use of it. I was informed this morning that Daddy would be receiving the pictures if I didn't volunteer to go with Frodo and the others to destroy this ring. I am beginning to like Lord Elrond less and less.

The council is in two hours. I'm going to volunteer. Come on, Diary, I was in my purple pixie briefs! Daddy would toss me to the spiders if he saw those pictures! Personally, I'd rather face Mordor.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Well, it is done. I have pledged my bow to helping Frodo destroy the ring. My only comfort is that Aragorn will be going too. So will Frodo's little hobbit friends, and Gandalf the wizard. I think we might actually stand a chance if Gandalf comes. The last two members of our "fellowship" I'm not so sure about. Gimli the dwarf – well, Diary, he's a dwarf. I think the stupid little mud-bunny only volunteered because he didn't want to be shown up by an elf. How...stupid. Boromir makes me nervous. He has shifty eyes.

However, just in case we do make it back alive, I think I'll take you with me, Diary. This written record will be my payback for all the history lessons I've had to endure all my long life. What better way to make yourself feel better than to pass on the misery? I will keep that tactic in mind for Gimli.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

We leave in an hour. I just wanted to write and calm myself down a bit. You know how excited I get before long trips.

I have found another book to continue you in, in the unlikely event that you are full of scribbles before I am eaten by orcs. The book is lovely and red, and I look forward to writing in it. I found it out on one of the terraces just after Bilbo left for supper. It wasn't quite empty at the time – it contained a lot of random stuff about dwarves and trolls and a dragon – nothing of real interest or importance. I ripped it all out and gave it to Arwen to line her bird cage with. Arwen keeps the most lovely little birds.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

My respect for Lord Elrond dwindles. We were run out of Rivendell like cattle from a garden, with only one pony between us for the baggage. They were too cheap to give us horses, Diary! I ask you, is that any way to treat people going off to risk their lives for the good of all the free peoples of the world? And that aside, I am a PRINCE. I believe I at least should rank a horse! Don't you agree, Diary? I knew you would.

Something else has been bothering me.

This ring. I am quite sure that I won something just like it out of a Happy Meal in the Mirkwood McDonald's. Just because the Dark Lord made it, and just because it happens to be evil, and just because it happens to possess those who wear it and cast a dark shadow for miles around and draw Ringwraiths like sugar draws ants, why should I have to go on the longest road-trip in history to the least desirable vacation spot on the map to get rid of it? I don't think this is fair. No I don't.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

I would like to tell you a little about my companions. First off I think they are all crazy, as they came on this quest of their own free will. But if you can see past that, most of them are alright.

I am getting very fond of the hobbits. Besides Frodo, there is Sam and Merry and Pippin. I think Sam was Frodo's gardener. Poor thing, he is in WAY over his curly little head, but I think Frodo needs him. You know, for moral support.

Merry and Pippin are somehow related to Frodo, or at least one of them is. They tried to explain it to me the other day, but I was lost in seven seconds. Hobbits have some very complicated family trees. Not unlike elves, I suppose. Pippin has a seemingly insatiable appetite, and both of them are apparently unable to stop talking. But they are cute, in the way small, furry, overly energetic, slightly destructive puppies are cute.

Aragorn. Now here's a keeper. Aragorn is a dear friend of mine, but it is painfully obvious that this long-lost heir to the throne of men has no idea what he is doing. I don't think he could find a port-a-potty in a ten by ten campsite. We have been wandering the wilds since day one, and I still don't think he knows where we are. Yesterday Gandalf finally stepped in and took over as navigator. Aragorn spent the night pouting. This morning we found the path. Enough said.

Gandalf is proving invaluable. He is easily the most likable old man I have ever met. He is very good at keeping the rest of us in good spirits and Aragorn and Boromir from killing each other. Which they will sooner or later, Gandalf or not, but I digress.

Boromir is very surly. I think he thinks that he should lead, and he should carry the ring, and he should divide the cookies at snack time. He is the son of the Chief Steward of Gondor. From his appearance I have concluded that they do not promote good hygiene in Gondor. The grease just oozes from his face and hair. It's enough to make me cry. I offered to let him use my herbal shampoo. He offered to give me flying lessons off the mountain. I was only trying to help.

Gimli just scares me. In the time since we left Rivendell he has shown no signs of having a brain. He has all the manners and politeness of a rock. And not the pretty, shiny rocks, but the dirty, muddy ones. Blegh. Gandalf says we should try to get along, but I just don't see it. I'll try being nice when the mud-bunny tries not being so stupid.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

I'm sorry I haven't written in a while. Most of my time has been occupied continuing to get to know my companions and giving myself foot massages when we stop for the evening. I am so sick of walking I could...well, be sick!

I'm just glad that I walk faster than Gimli, so he is the one staring at the back of my head instead of me looking at his. I just want to knock him senseless and attack his head with a razor. His hair is awful, Diary! It makes me shudder every time I think about it too much.

Anyhow. We are now quite far up in the mountains, heading towards a pass Gandalf knows of. With any luck we'll be able to get to it before the weather gets too bad. I myself am counting on this. It's already so cold up here that when we stop walking I can't feel my legs. I am beginning to question the wisdom of wearing tights all the time.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

The news is not good.

Today we were stopped for lunch on a nice little peak. Sam was making the lunch, as usual. Boromir, in a rare display of non-surly-ness, was teaching the hobbits the finer points of swordsmanship. He's gotten very fond of Merry and Pippin. They brighten my day, too. But I pity any orc that runs into those two. Just from mishandling their daggers alone they nearly gutted Boromir six times.

They had just jointly tackled him into submission when we noticed a big black cloud coming toward us. In a few seconds I realized that they were those nasty little spy birds of Saruman's, and we all dove for cover. I ended up laying on a thistle. Boo. After they had gone, it was decided that we would haul tail to the pass, "with all reasonable haste," which here means that we each grabbed a hobbit and ran like cheap stockings. Too late, though. Saruman took notice, and the big cheat is using his magic to turn the top of the mountain into what amounts to a giant, shaken snow globe.

Right now I am huddled in next to Aragorn under this pathetic little overhang on the cliff face, trying to distract myself from the horrible cold by writing. It is so cold that the pony is turning blue. I can't feel anything below my armpits. Aragorn is drooling in his sleep – how he can sleep through this cold is beyond me. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the big lug is hogging the blanket that we are SUPPOSED to be sharing... Oh well, at least he'll wake up with his beard frozen solid. One must take heart in the small comforts.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Today was no better. It is still snowing like nobody's business. Gandalf nearly went tumbling over the side of the mountain, but I managed to catch him by the cloak and pull him back. I wish he wouldn't do things like that.

The entire side of the mountain nearly came tumbling down on us. As it was, everyone was buried, including me. Yes, Diary, apparently even graceful creatures that can walk effortlessly on top of snow can still be overcome by avalanches. And it MESSED UP MY HAIR! I was shocked. It's never been messy before, Diary! I was quite upset.

Then Gimli, dearest Gimli, who was covered in snow and looked remarkably like a stumpy little Santa Claus, brought up the Mines of Moria. Now everyone wants to go that way but me and Gandalf. (And Boromir, who wants us to go to HIS city. It's all about him.) I suppose that's where we're bound to go, to Moria, since Frodo the Ring Bearer votes for the mines.

Still, I guess we had better get off this mountain soon. I'm scared that we'll look away for a moment and the hobbits will freeze solid. Poor little bunnies don't even have shoes. I do wish I had some proper pants, though...

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Next stop on our sightseeing tour, bright and cheerful Moria. We are currently parked outside the entrance gate, and we have no idea how to get inside. Even Gandalf is stumped. The dwarf has once again proven himself worthless, as he can't even remember how to get into his own cousin's cave. Stupid mud-bunny.

Sam is upset that we have to send the pony back. I'm not sure what he planned to do with it inside the mines, but he's taking this awfully hard. Bill (the pony) doesn't seem to share his sentiments, as I can see it running away from here rather quickly. I don't blame you, Bill.

This place gives me the creeps. The lake is really making me nervous. It's deep and dark and cold, and the water looks and smells nasty, so we can't even drink out of it. Not that I want to go that close to it, anyway. I can't quit imagining what may live down there. I keep darting glances at the water, and it keeps rippling back in response. I wish Pippin would quit tossing things into it. I really hope they get that door open soon.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Yikes. For once my imagination was not running away with me; there really WAS something icky in that lake.

We are now trapped inside Moria. Which would be quite bad enough if it really were full of dwarves, but no, I couldn't get that lucky. We have discovered that the only dwarves in here are, for lack of a better word, dead. Gimli is distraught. This place reeks of orc. A slime-covered something has been following us very tenaciously. I wish it wouldn't.

I want to go home. I miss the sun. I am ashamed of myself, but I must say it: the sight of numerous dwarf corpses cheers one somewhat. So does the fragrance of the weed that the entire company, to a man, smokes. I like it. It makes me feel all floaty, like the time Daddy got me my first pony. Maybe I'll make myself a pipe.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Put on the kettle, I have stories.

Early yesterday (or close enough to that time) we stumbled onto the tomb of Balin, Gimli's cousin. Gimli was very upset, and ran to see the tomb with blubber swaying, but I at least knew that then was not the time to grieve too much. "We cannot linger," I said, but did they listen, Diary? You tell me.

That silly little Pippin called what amounts to the entire population of the mountain's orcs down on us through one of his little "accidents." I'm starting to wonder if he isn't deliberately trying to kill us all.

Anyway, we had to fight off the first wave of them in the tomb, and they had a cave troll. This I took care of with a nifty little chain climbing trick after the others had slowed it down somewhat. But it was me who killed it in the end. I'm now almost out of arrows. I feel indecent.

After the first round we fled the tomb and ran for it, but we didn't get far before we were surrounded. I tell you, Diary, these orcs are like termites! There's no end to them! And they're all hideous, each one more so than the last. I thought it was the end for sure, but then the nasty little things backed off. We had two seconds to wonder why before Gandalf was screaming at us to run. Which we did, like a loose spigot, towards the bridge of Kazhad Dum with a balrog hot on our heels.

The hobbits were too small to jump, so they had to be tossed across the breaking stone bridges. That should be a new sport, I think, the Hobbit Toss'N'Catch. I'd take first place. Gimli almost took a spill, and happy it would have made me, but at the last moment I caught the little mud-bunny by the beard. He was most upset.

Now is where my entry gets upsetting. Gandalf stayed behind to hold the bridge, and that overgrown snapping turtle/bat/campfire hybrid pulled him down into the abyss. It was horrifying. But I refuse to believe he is dead. That old man is tougher than the jerky we've been gnawing since Rivendell, and I tell you he'll be back! Don't laugh at me, Diary.

We escaped through one of their back doors, out onto the mountainside. Aragorn was for shoving off immediately. I think he was happy to have his navigator/guide job back. The hobbits are still horribly upset, especially Pippin. He cried the whole time we were escaping. I think Gandalf owed him some money.

We are now in Lothlorien, and I am doing my best not to ask Lady Galadriel what she has been smoking. Whatever it is, it must be pretty strong to make her so pale, and then make her flare up blue and terrifying like that.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

I have seen something wonderful!

Last night I happened to overhear Frodo and Lady Galadriel quietly poring over what at first I thought was a birdbath. But apparently Frodo saw a possible end to the war of the ring. I was very excited to see what my own version was like, even if Frodo didn't like his. After Frodo went back to bed and Galadriel disappeared, I ran in and gave the mystic bath a shot.

It was amazing, Diary! All the orcs turned into squirrels and ran away into Mirkwood to bother Daddy. The hobbits went home, safe and happy, while Aragorn and I did karaoke on the tabletop surrounded by beautiful girls. Their dresses were so very short! There was food and wine and a big screen tv.

But then Galadriel came back and found me drooling into her pool. She was not pleased. I can still hear her shrill voice screaming, see her giant blue face glowing, and feel her luminescing blue foot connecting with the seat of my tights. I hope I am not related to her in any way.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Today we left Lorien. I am sorry to leave it, but not the Lady who lives there. I think she is still sore at me for the pool thing; she gave away presents this morning and all they gave me was another bow. Pfft. Ooh, how nice. Couldn't have been a Game Cube or something to pass the time, oh, no. I'd kill to challenge Aragorn to Mortal Kombat. At least I had the pleasure of making faces at her ugly swan boat.

We are now proceeding down the river towards the falls. If all goes well we will soon come to the edge of the nasty part of this adventure. I can hardly wait. (Dripping with sarcasm today, aren't I, Diary?) I do hope that those gargantuan statues don't decide to fall today...

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

We are out of the boats and are now trying to decide whether or not to cross a very unsettling lake. Some want to go on, some do not. The story of this fellowship so far.

I get a very bad feeling about this place. It sends chills up my fair elven spine. I have confided to Aragorn that I think we should cross the lake with all speed, but he just got pissy and said that if I wanted to be the leader why didn't I just say so. Now he is giving me the cold shoulder. I still don't like it.

Boromir is acting strange, as well. I have no idea where he is; he disappeared after Frodo left for some alone time. Just because the other children never let Boromir be the one to hold the button, doesn't mean he has to go and try to steal the ring from Frodo. I'm sure Frodo would let him hold it if he just asked nicely. I wonder when he plans to tell Frodo how he feels. Keeping things like that inside is not healthy.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Mother told me there would be days like this.

Boromir has died, shot full of arrows like a giant greasy pincushion, trying to protect Merry and Pippin from the orcs. That's right, we were ambushed. Did I not tell you we should cross the lake, Diary? Aragorn and I got into a shouting match over Boromir's lifeless body, yelling "I told you so!" and "Shut up, tree hugger!" at one another until Gimli broke us up. I am now not speaking to Aragorn.

Frodo and Sam are missing, as is one of the boats. We are about to give Boromir a decent send off in another boat, before we decide what to do. The fellowship didn't have that much use after all. I feel the need to pop a Prozac. The sight of the Horn of Gondor, the only thing Boromir loved, laying on the ground in two pieces isn't helping either. I wish I had some super glue...

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

My psychic abilities tell me that there is much running in my immediate future. We have decided to go after Merry and Pippin. I have my misgivings about leaving Frodo and Sam to their own devices, but in one respect Aragorn is right; we can't let the orcs hurt our other two little bunnies. If they haven't already. I hope Pippin bites them right in the arm. He did that to me once, for touching his lembas. I thought he was asleep, and I had planned to wrap it back up for him. Never assume when dealing with hungry, grouchy hobbits.

Wish me luck, Diary, and I don't know when I'll be able to write again. It may be never. But as long as I can, I'll keep writing, and maybe we'll all come out of this nightmare alright one day.

...yeah, right.

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**(2****nd****)AN:** If anyone likes it and reviews to say they like it, I might do a diary from Two Towers and Return of the King. Key word being "might." After all, we are watching the whole (extended) trilogy in senior English. What assignment could be better, I ask you?


	2. Two Towers

**Author's Note:** Welcome back, everybody! Thank you so much for reading chapter one of my little fic! I'm glad you enjoyed it a little. Our class has finally made it to watching the Two Towers, despite the early onset of end-of-term reports, and it's now time for chapter two! Yay! And if I seem to pick on anybody in this fic (Gimli, Boromir, Aragorn, hint hint) it's only out of love. 'Cause I really do love 'em all. (kitty smile)

**Disclaimer:** All characters, places, battles, etc. here mentioned belong to Prof. Tolkein. Not me. Sigh. What I wouldn't give for a pet hobbit...

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Dear Diary;

I like running. I like running through sunlit fields in the spring, chasing swallows and butterflies. I like running in moonlit woods on a summer night, playing tag with my friends and the shadows of the forest trees. But I do NOT like running across barren wastelands of hard, colorless rock in the wintertime, following a human who hasn't had a bath since who knows when and followed by an out-of-shape dwarf whose bathing habits I don't even want to consider.

Three days. Three days we've been running. We still haven't caught up with the Uruk- Hai. This is one of the very small short rests we have taken so far, and I just thought I'd check in and let you know I'm still alive. Aren't you glad, Diary? I am SO glad that elves have the advanced ability to sleep on their feet. While running, no less. At least we know we're on the right trail; Aragorn found one of the hobbits' little leaf brooches. So we may yet hope to again hear their squeaky little voices begging us for food.

Gimli can't last much longer. He's weakening, I can sense it. Aragorn keeps telling me to keep an eye on the mud bunny and make sure we don't lose him, but I'm getting tired of saying "Come on, Gimli," and "Keep up, Gimli." If he falls down again I shall just pull his cloak over him and leave him alone. He'll catch us up eventually. This I can say for dwarves: they are tenacious beyond belief.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

How talented am I? There aren't many people who can claim that they have written a journal entry on the back of a running horse.

A few hours ago we ran into the Riders of Rohan. Or, rather, they ran into us. They were not very polite. Despite my inner urges, I was forced to stand up for Gimli. The question of difference in races aside, I couldn't just let some random horse lover walk up and threaten to decapitate one of my companions. If Gimli died, who would I laugh at?

After some chill pills and a little persuasion from Aragorn, Captain Eomer lent us two horses. I swear that given the opportunity that man could persuade Saruman to buy a box of Ranger Scout cookies for himself and each of his ten thousand orc soldiers. That's how good Aragorn is. It makes me sick.

Anyhow, now that we have the horses things are looking up, even if I do have a dwarf gripping my waist like he's starving and I'm a giant ham and turkey sub with all the fixings. It's getting hard to breathe. I don't think he likes the horses much. I like them, though. Aragorn's horse is named Hasufel, and the one I'm riding is Arod. They are delightfully spirited.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

My pony ran away! Uh, I mean, _Arod_ ran away, and Hasufel. Pulled their pickets and took off. I don't think they like Fangorn Forest any more than Gimli does. It's a little close, and a tiny bit stuffy, but I like it alright. And this is where we've tracked Merry and Pippin to, so this is where we're going to stay, regardless.

We have had a stalker, as well. He's old, dressed in white, and scared Gimli during the night. My vote is on Saruman. From what I've heard, that man doesn't know when to give up. Next time he comes around I might have to introduce myself via an arrow.

My, these trees are angry about something. I think it might be the mud bunny's axe. Hmm, maybe if he keeps it out one of the trees will grab him around the neck and twist him up into a hairy little dwarf pretzel...

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Aragorn owes me five dollars. Gandalf is still alive! It was him we saw last night, the big sneak. Apparently he has obtained a new set of designer robes, all nice and white and clean, and that's why we didn't recognize him. He's still cryptic as ever. I'm a bit ashamed that I was so frightened of a Balrog that couldn't even take down an old man. Elven instincts, go figure. Oh, well, maybe the thing was defective, or having a bad day, or something.

But Gandalf had excellent news! Merry and Pippin are perfectly fine, and Gandalf himself sent them off with an ent. An ENT, Diary! A real ent! My new goal for this trip is to speak with one, and possibly get it's autograph. I swear, Daddy and the brothers will never believe it.

Oh, and Arod and Hasufel came back. They just went off to greet Gandalf's horse Shadowfax. Oooh, he's beautiful, Diary! I want to pet him so badly! Again, I blame those pesky elven instincts at work.

Right now we're back on the horses, heading for Edoras, and again I am being squeezed by the dwarf. Couldn't be a gorgeous young elf girl, oh no. At least what amounts to the capital of Rohan should have a shower. Right this minute I'd kill for a bath, and I swear that if I don't buff my nails soon I'll just fall off this horse and die. Shooting close to a thousand arrows a day is murder on the cuticles!

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Lucky thing I keep you down my shirt. They made us hand over everything we had before we entered Theoden's hall, and I swear the guy who took my bow looked like he wanted to strip-search us. It wasn't a nice feeling. Besides, I don't want anyone to read a single word I've written here. Aragorn would beat me up, Gandalf would probably turn me into a chipmunk or something, and Gimli would axe-murder me in my sleep.

Anyway. King Theoden looked terrible. I mean, it almost made me sick! He looked like a corpse. Thankfully Gandalf fixed him up a bit. I was a little concerned when he did it, though. It looked like he was inducing Theoden to have a heart attack. But the king survived Gandalf's good ol' home remedies, and I believe he's even a little better off for it. He's still old, and he's still cranky, but at least he doesn't look dead anymore. And as an added bonus Aragorn, Gimli and I got to rumble with the hall guards. I haven't been able to punch anyone in ages! It was nice.

Well, now that Theoden is firmly on our side, I think I'll go hunt up that shower. I asked Aragorn if he wanted to come and he got all offended, like I said he smells bad or something. And for the record I said no such thing. I merely implied it. And it stands to reason that when you are spit upon by some grimy little backstabbing advisor named Wormtongue who needs extensive therapy, you'd want to wash it off, right? Well, not Aragorn. Apparently Isildur's heir and the future King of Men is above soap and water and antiperspirant. But that's none of my concern. Just because I'm on his team doesn't mean I'm obligated to stand next to him.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

My estimation of Edoras just hit rock bottom. There is not a single bath or shower in this entire hall. A hotel or visitors' center with one, maybe? Nope. A river, stream, lake or pond nearby? Nada. No wonder everyone here smells like horse! I'm tired and sore and upset and my legs hurt, and it looks like I'll have to stay dirty for the rest of my long, long life! This just isn't right! Ah, my hair is all full of dust! I'm filthy, Diary! FILTHY!

Okay, calm down, Legolas. Mustn't panic, now. Think. There has to be some water around here SOMEWHERE, right?

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Well, well, wouldn't it just figure? I found the water, alright. Do you know where it was? It was concealed in the stables, in giant stone horse troughs that were so immaculately clean I had almost no qualms about bathing in one. How like the Rohirrim, to treat their horses better than their people. Good thing I carried some soap from Rivendell.

Oh, Valar, how embarrassing. Me, a prince, reduced to washing in a horse trough. In full view of the horse, no less. Arod gave me a strange look. I told him to be silent. Odds are someone comes in there every hour on the hour with the express purpose of cleaning the horse water anyway, so he won't have to deal with soapy drinks for too long. Besides, the dirt came off an elf, not a dwarf or human, so it can't be that bad.

At least there is one benefit I discovered of bathing in a horse stall: the high walls guarantee that you're not spied upon by half the girls within a three mile radius. I'm sure the horses were laughing at me, though. Oh, well. At least I'm clean. Now all I need is a manicure and I'll be set.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Gandalf is off my Christmas card list. He found out about my little bath. Either someone saw me coming out of the stables all squeaky clean and he found out from them, or Shadowfax told him. I bet it was Shadowfax. And then the wizard went and told Aragorn and Gimli, and they spent most of the day laughing at me. I'm not speaking to any of them.

Right now we are, once more, on the move. This time we are headed for Helm's Deep, which will hopefully prevent the massacre of the entire population of Edoras. Gandalf rode off, like he usually does when danger is immanent. I think he just enjoys making a big dramatic entrance and saving everybody.

I refused to ride with Gimli. He is trying to ride on his own, which is just providing me with some much-needed amusement. He was flirting with Theoden's niece Eowyn and the horse spooked. I don't blame it. He hit the dirt and bounced. I laughed. So did Eowyn. So did Aragorn. He needs to laugh more. I can tell he's thinking about Arwen. I hope all that works out, because if I have to listen to her moping around the Gray Havens moaning about how much she misses Aragorn, I might do something rude like tell her to shut up.

I'm hungry. Not to be obviously rude, but Lady Eowyn can't cook. She tries, poor thing, and Aragorn lied and said her stew was good, of course. I miss Daddy's wine. Sigh.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Well, Aragorn is gone. He fell off a cliff attached to a warg, and I found a nasty little orc fondling his Evenstar pendant. It never ends.

Arwen will probably gut me when she finds out what happened to her precious little Estel while I was on the same battlefield as he was. I am not the Ranger's keeper! He'll probably miraculously show up in an hour or two, anyway. He's lucky in an almost criminal way. It's almost like he has horseshoes and rabbits' feet stuffed down his armor. But I don't grudge him his luck, because he'll need every ounce of it to keep lord Elrond from strangling him when he finally marries daddy's little darling.

I am not liking the look of this Helm's Deep place. Never trust any given location made entirely of rock. It's embedded in the side of a mountain, for Eldar's sake. Gimli is ecstatic. Oh, well. I suppose that mountain ups our odds for survival when the army from Isengard arrives. Now, to go find a snack and await Aragorn's timely arrival.

I really hope he shows up. I don't want Arwen to beat me.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

The prodigal Ranger returns! I informed him that he looks terrible. The look he gave me informed me that I am a pointy-eared twit, and I would do well to shut up. He didn't say that, of course, but I could see it in his eyes. Gimli was happy, and Eowyn was ready to cry. Am I the only one who has figured out that everyone who seems to be dead has at least a fifty-fifty chance of miraculously returning alive?

Aragorn brings ugly news. An army of orcs ten thousand strong is heading right for us. They'll hit around nightfall, he says. And my hair is starting to frizz, so that means rain, at around the same time as the orcs, if I'm not mistaken. My hair is hardly ever wrong. Lucky, lucky days. King Theoden is in low spirits. I can't truthfully say that I blame him.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Aragorn and I had a fight.

I just got a little stressed, that's all, wandering around listening to all the talk of death and destruction. One fifth of the soldiers out there are under fourteen! They need to still be wrestling in the grass, playing their children's games and riding their ponies, not putting on helmets and gearing up for battle. Quite a few of the others are older than Theoden himself! I wouldn't trust these men to look at a Playboy without having a stroke, and now they are all that stands between a free nation and complete and utter destruction.

So I was on the verge of a panic attack and tried to have a little friendly discussion with Aragorn in elvish. All I did was quite reasonably point out that we are all going to be brutally, mercilessly, pitilessly slaughtered in a matter of hours. And I did it in elvish, as I said, so no one else even understood me when I foresaw their doom, but that didn't matter. "Lord" Aragorn got all testy and yelled something like he was willing to die as one of them. You should have seen the soldiers' faces when he said "die" and "them" in the same sentence. It was like their eyes had been pre-programmed to open up very wide when those words were spoken. Troop moral has hit a record low.

Aragorn says it's all my fault. I say it's his fault for yelling out his dramatic dialog and forgetting to speak it in elvish. He can be so pissy sometimes. But I'll have to be the one to apologize anyway, because that evil son of a king's heir smelled the chocolate on my breath when we were yelling at each other. He pulled me aside and said that if I don't apologize in public he'll find what's left of my stash and eat it all. Damn him. Damn him! Do you have ANY idea how HARD it is to keep a Hershey bar fresh and intact in the face of what we've been through?

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Well, I said I was sorry. If looks could kill there would be one less Ranger going to battle this evening. I think he's going to try to find my chocolate anyway, now that he knows there is some. But that's where I have him beat! In anticipation of his little tricks and the upcoming battle that could very well kill us all, I have eaten the last of my stash. It was a bittersweet victory.

And I have some surprising news. Haldir and a company of archers have come to join the battle. I wonder what, exactly, was the dollar amount of the raise Elrond and Galadriel obviously promised these poor saps. So just maybe we might have a fighting chance.

Right now we are stationed on the battlements, watching the tide of orc flotsam and jetsam creep closer up the Deeping Coomb toward the Hornburg. If I were any lesser a being, I might be intimidated. Unluckily for the orcs, however, my anxiety attack is well in the past, and I am ready to give them a warm welcome at arrow-point.

Heh, Gimli is too short to see over the wall. I said something really scathing about getting him a box, but he just laughed at me. I think the mud bunny has realized that I don't dislike him as much as I let on.

Ah, a raindrop. The first of many, I bet. Must sign off now. Battle is immanent. If I survive, you'll be one of the first to know. I wish I could siphon off some of Aragorn's luck.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

The sun is shining, the lembas is tasty, and the orc carcasses are piled high! It's a beautiful day!

The battle was won. At dawns first light Aragorn, Gimli, Theoden and myself decided to ride out and give the orcs one last bit of hell before we were overrun, and who appeared in the moment of direst need but Gandalf and all the absent Riders of the Mark! The orcs that weren't mown down ran headlong into a forest that has somehow mysteriously sprouted at the mouth of the valley. I don't know why, but for some reason I don't think many orcs will be returning from that little picnic.

Might I also humbly say that I kicked slimy, hairy, pimply orc behind last night? Forty two of them met their proverbial maker at the tips of my knives and arrows. And I have decided that if I escape from this war alive I will take up a new hobby: skateboarding. Valar know I have the reflexes for it.

The one damp spot on my otherwise cheerful mood is that Gimli bagged one more orc than I did. I shot the one he was sitting on, and he gave me a bunch of bull about how it was only twitching because there was a dwarf axe stuck in the back of its skull, but I say it was still alive.

I'm willing to not argue the point, though, even if he did have the nerve to call me a pointy-eared elvish princeling. Everyone always goes for the ears when they want to insult me. I don't know why they do this. I'm usually told that my delicately pointed little ears are cute. Go figure.

And as if my day were not good enough, now i have dirt on the mud bunny! Figuratively speaking. Aragorn let it slip that he tossed the dwarf across the gap to the bridge last night. That's good to know, because all the time I was helping to haul their none-too-gingerly weights up the side of the keep, I was WONDERING how Gimli managed to get across that distance. It's all coming together.

Now, I know you want to hear what's going to happen next, right Diary? I think what looks most likely is that we will take King Theoden and the Rohirrim and pay a visit to Saruman at Isengard. Gandalf knows something we don't, obviously, because he keeps laughing whenever someone mentions Saruman or the mystery trees at our doorstep. I would like to get closer to those trees.

Well, Diary, I suppose I must again bid you a temporary farewell. With any luck I shall write again soon. We're off to see a wizard, as it were.

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

**(2****nd****)Author's Note:** At my own discretion I have decided to leave the tiny detail of Haldir's death out of this fic. Why? Because I don't think that poor Haldir with his cute widdle buck teeth should die. LotR is depressing enough as it is, and this _is_ _supposed_ to be humorous.


	3. Return of the King

**Author's Note:** Welcome back, everyone! So nice to see you all again! Welcome to the third and final chapter of _An Honest Elf_. It has to be the last chapter, since the _Return of the King_ is the end of the trilogy. Bummers. I was really attached to this fic. Thanks so much to everyone who read, and double thanks to everyone who reviewed. I couldn't stay motivated without you. If I knew how to thank you in elvish, I would.

**Disclaimer:** All characters, places, battles, etc. (and four adorable hobbits) belong to Prof. Tolkien and the New Line Cinema people. Just know that I am indeed fortunate to be able to spoof their breathtaking work in my own, slightly humorous, little way.

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

Dear Diary;

Greetings, from the road to Isengard! Didn't I tell you this was would happen? I'm becoming better and better at picking up on what's about to go down. Quite a far cry from the trusting, wide-eyed little elven prince who set out from Mirkwood so many months ago. I almost wish I had known then what I know now. If my insight was as clear back then I would have run screaming when Daddy asked me to ride to Rivendell. But then, I never would have made so many...interesting...new friends and had so many opportunities to show exactly how much of a stud I am. Ah, well. Life goes on.

Gimli keeps trying to tell me all about how great the caves of Helm's Deep are. He wants me to go down with him and take a look at their wonder, their splendor, their majesty, etc. I told him that if we manage to survive this war, and if he agrees to accompany me through Fangorn, I will go back to the caves with him. He agreed. I triumphantly congratulate myself on escaping an unpleasant underground field trip. Even if we do both live to see next year, there is no way Gimli would go willingly into Fangorn. Ha, ha, I win. You go, Legolas.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Oh, my goodness. Orthanc must have an absolutely awful drainage system. Our horses are up past their hocks in nasty brown water. This entire place is flooded like the palace bathrooms after the nursemaids give the children their evening baths. And, honestly, the water is probably just as dirty. Merry and Pippin say the ents did it.

Yes, we were finally reunited with our furry little companions. They have yet to stop giggling, which I attribute to the great barrels of pipe weed they were puffing away at when we found them. Gimli was speechless. However, I'm willing to ignore their odd smoking habits. They did feed us, after all. And it's nice to have some cheerful, non-dwarfish faces to look at.

...Oh, who am I kidding? I missed the little bunnies! I want to hug them and squeeze them and yell at them and put them on leashes so they never get away from us again! No one can know this.

Right now we are preparing to go and see if we can't talk some sense into Saruman, who is still sequestered in his tower. Not even the ents can flush him out. Speaking of ents. I still want to talk to one. And maybe surreptitiously pluck off a leaf or two when it isn't looking. You know, as a souvenir.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Well, at least I got to shoot SOMEONE, even if it wasn't Saruman.

He came out on the balcony to negotiate, and Gandalf and King Theoden gave him a large piece of their mind. He flipped like a hobbit at an adventurers' convention and started with the threats. I was ready to shoot him, I really was, but for some reason everyone told me not to. Why, I still cannot figure out.

Then Theoden's old advisor, Grima, came crawling out and made a scene. You won't believe this, Diary, but he and Saruman began to argue and the wizard kicked him in the head. Burn. Apparently that was the straw that broke the Wormtongue's back, because he dove on Saruman and stuck a dagger between his shoulder blades. I returned the favor with a friendly arrow, but by then the wizard was already tumbling down off the tower. He landed on a mill wheel. A spiky one. Everyone cringed. Even I winced. Ouch.

At least Gandalf got a nice paperweight out of the exchange. I'm not sure if Grima tossed it at us, or if Saruman dropped it, or what, but Pippin got hold of it all the same and was immediately entranced. I get a bad feeling about this. I mean, it's only a glass ball. Why does it fascinate the little hobbit so? Maybe it's just that hobbits like shiny things. Yes, that must be it. I think Frodo has proved that point beyond any doubt.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Our second stay at Meduseld, King Theoden's golden hall, is turning out infinitely better than the first. Everyone is still coasting on the adrenaline rush from winning the battle at Helm's Deep. I think that right at this moment they could be persuaded to jump a Nazgul, they're that worked up.

A fine feast is in the works for later this evening, to honor the fallen and celebrate our hard earned victory. I think lady Eowyn plans to stick to Aragorn like a butterfly to a meadow clover. Aragorn looks uncomfortable. If he's having trouble with this, then let it serve him right. Arwen is back at Rivendell pining away for him as I write, and he doesn't even have the guts to gently spurn Eowyn's advances. If he acts like he's beginning to enjoy these advances, I am going to tell on him – not to Arwen, but to lord Elrond. I think that would be much the more painful for the little Ranger playa, and I told him so. He blanched like a boiled cabbage. I think he's going to stay away from lady Eowyn this evening.

Merry and Pippin are ecstatic in anticipation of the food and ale and songs and dancing. Gimli just wants the ale. Oh, and beer. And possibly a giant greasy plate of unidentified meat, the thought of which makes me slightly ill, but mostly the ale and beer. I am not touching even a drop of wine. Drinking is what got me into this mess in the first place! No way am I going to take any chances of doing something even more stupid.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

I am so stupid.

I could have refused. I should have refused. But when that snide little dwarf challenged me to a drinking contest...you know the rest, I'm sure.

I thought, why not? Any wood elf, even myself with my embarrassing lack of ability to hold my wine, should be able to drink a dwarf under the table. So I took him up on it. By the time he was starting to sway on his stubby little feet there was a pile of empty mugs in front of us and I couldn't feel my hands. I was seeing three dwarves spinning around in front of me. Then he said something about little hairy women and I nearly lost everything I had been drinking. Gimli hit the floor at the same time I hit the door, sprinting frantically for the little elf's room. At least I beat him. It is a painful victory.

After that I wandered outside to get some fresh air. I think everyone else was going to bed, because I couldn't hear the hobbits' cute little drinking ditties anymore. Not that it mattered much at the time. I'm not sure how long I was out there, but after a while Aragorn came out as well. I surely was not going to give him reason to taunt me, so I pretended to be gazing dramatically at the sky. I believe I said something cryptic about the stars being veiled. Or something like it. He didn't notice anything strange. Good thing it was dark and he couldn't see how green my face was. I would never live it down, and that is saying a lot.

I was just about to suggest that he go back inside and get some sleep (I was feeling sick again) when we both felt something exceedingly unpleasant. Sauron, that flaming pestilence on the face of our Middle-Earth, the Big Nasty himself, was come for a visit. Aragorn and I both ran, he back inside the hall and I back to the bathroom. It was not a good night.

Later I found out what happened. Through the pulsing pain of the worst hangover of my ancient life I learned all about palantiri and why curious little hobbits shouldn't touch. It just gets better and better, doesn't it, Diary?

Gandalf took Pippin and ran for Gondor on Shadowfax. I feel horrible for Merry and Pippin, to be parted this way. They've been through so much together. It must be terribly traumatic for both of them. I really do feel bad about it. But then, maybe I just feel bad in general. That could be it. I am never drinking again.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

The beacons of Gondor have been lit. I think Gandlaf might have had something to do with that, because from what I hear of Boromir's father, he would rather take a flying leap off the top of Minas Tirith than ask anyone for help.

Aragorn has once again plied his persuading charms on the king, and Theoden has agreed to ride to Gondor's aid. That means that I am also in for the long haul. This whole journey has kept me amazingly fit and trim, however, and I do need to work off those extra calories from that feast the other night. Must keep my elvish figure. Slaying a few dozen more orcs ought to do it.

Well, I think I'll go out to the stables and visit my good friend Arod. Maybe I'll take him an apple, or some sugar cubes. And perhaps I might also bring along a bar of soap and a change of clothes, while I'm at it. It's likely to be the last bath I ever take. Might as well enjoy it.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

We are riding for Gondor, and picking up reinforcements along the way. I can't say that I am thrilled about the ride, for, once again, I am saddled with dwarf.

Lady Eowyn is up to something. She thinks no one has noticed, but you can't slip much past these baby blues. I think Aragorn is also aware that something is up, but he's not telling on her. I myself think it's about time that girl got a chance to show what she's made of. If I had to dawdle around and miss out on battles like she does I would have gone insane long ago.

However, despite Eowyn's enthusiasm for the fight, I think we may be in trouble. King Theoden is severely short handed in the cavalry department, for the sheer size of the battle we are about to undertake. But hasn't that been the story of our quest so far, to be hopelessly outnumbered and still triumph against all odds? Maybe Aragorn is our good luck charm after all. I would make an effort to stay closer to him if he didn't smell so bad.

But right now no one can be close to him, because he is locked up in the tent with lord Elrond. Yes, lord Elrond snuck into camp a little while ago, bearing a suspiciously sword-shaped package. I think he has finally realized that if Aragorn kicks, so will his little Arwen, and he has grudgingly come to give us a new ace in the hole. It's about time, if you ask me. But no one will. I have two jobs on this quest, shooting things and looking pretty. Might I say I do both rather well.

Are you ready for my latest prediction, Diary? I think that Aragorn is going to take the new sword and go to ground beneath the haunted mountain we are currently camped under to recruit the help of an entire subterranean city of the living dead. More glory for Aragorn heir of Isildur, etc. etc. Not on my sundial. Must sign off now and saddle up Arod. Both the men and the horses are terrified of this mountain, but I think I can persuade my horsey friend to carry me at least to the doorway.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Well, that was certainly an interesting trip. It reminded me of when I was little, and my brothers would tell me scary stories and then send me to bed alone down the dark hallways with no lantern. Sniff. They were so mean.

As predicted, the horses spooked and bolted before the door. I don't really blame them. They are only simple beasts, after all. Gimli was afraid to go into the tunnel. I don't really blame him. He is only a simple beast, after all. But then I thought, a-ha! The perfect opportunity to get him back for proposing that foolish drinking game. I ran in after Aragorn like a rabbit pursued by hounds, and in order to preserve his dwarfish honor, the mud-bunny literally had no choice but to follow me. Revenge is sweet.

I am going to miss Arod. I got quite attached to him. Maybe I can go find him again sometime. I'm almost positive he ran back to king Theoden and the other Riders of Rohan, so he is probably still with them. Oh, but the tunnel! I almost forgot.

To me, it wasn't so very frightening. It was more like a bad dream than anything else, with vague and ghostly pale shapes of horses and men long since dead floating about all around you. Gimli very nearly made me laugh, trying to blow away the spirit hands grasping at the air around him. What I would do for entertainment without him around is beyond me.

The ghostly city was truly remarkable. The ghosts themselves were not. Downright creepy. And their king was having nothing to do with Aragorn, even though he carried the sword Anduril. I know it was foolish, but I wasted an arrow on him, just to be sure he was really not solid. (The ghost king, not Aragorn.) Obviously I hit nothing, and shortly after all the spirits disappeared. The cave began to quake, and what amounts to an avalanche of skulls came raining down on us. We barely got out alive, and as it was I had to keep pushing Gimli out ahead of me. It must be horrible to be so short.

We came out on the other side of the mountain, just in time to see an entire fleet of heavily manned corsair ships sailing up the river to assault Minas Tirith. I think Aragorn was seriously about to cry. He felt horrible, being unable to make the ghosts fight for us. He just looked so very pitiful that it was all I could do not to give him a hug, despite his lack of skill in wielding a washcloth. As it was, I just put a comforting hand on his shoulder. I can't slip and make it seem like I really do care for these people. Even though I do.

But then, just when we were all feeling pretty depressed, our luck once again changed for the better. Wonder of wonders, from out of the mountain came the ghost king, declaring that they had had a change of non-existent heart and decided to join our team. Aragorn was thrilled. Only my steady elven hand still on his shoulder prevented him from doing his happy dance. If anything could scare away a spirit king and his army, it would be Aragorn's happy dance.

Right now we are waiting on the shore, about to show the corsairs what utter havoc an army of the un-dead can wreck. The sea is beautiful. I can't stare at it enough. After all of this is done, I must come back. I just wish the silly seagulls would stop crying. I can't get the sound out of my head, and it does get on one's nerves.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Whee! I've never been on a boat this size before. It's so liberating! I just wish we were out to sea, not sailing up a river toward Minas Tirith. But I suppose my fun will have to wait. Minas Tirith is sure to be under siege right now. The White City seems to be a popular place to attack.

We got on board with no trouble, thanks to our new friends. They're not bad at all, for a bunch of dead men. I think they must have secretly been itching for battle, after all that time underground.

Aie, these seagulls! The shrieking is enough to drive one mad! It haunts my every waking thought! I just might be driven back to the sea for the one and only purpose of shooting them all and ridding the world of their annoyance. Aragorn and Gimli don't seem to mind them, but they are horrid, I tell you!

Aragorn continues to strut the deck. He really thinks he's hot stuff, doesn't he? Well, need I remind him who was about to cry at the foot of the big scary mountain yesterday because he thought he was a loser? I will never understand humans.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Why can't Gimli just accept that I am clearly the superior being? I lost count of the orcs I slaughtered on the plain before Minas Tirith, the wild men that fled before my knives and arrows, and if anyone in present company can brag to offing an oliphant plus riders single handed, I would like to meet him. And that slimy little mud-bunny had the gall to inform me that a beast that size, that was mowing down our riders the way Sam mows the grass, still only counts as one. Yes, one THOUSAND! Or at least one hundred. Not just ONE! What is his PROBLEM, Diary? Yeesh.

In other news, straight from the battlefield – Lady Eowyn has, beyond a doubt, proved that she is a better warrior than she is a cook. Had I been there, there might have been some debate over which of us was to slay the Witch King's ride and subsequently the Witch King, but as I was occupied with my oliphant she took care of the problem beautifully. She broke her arm in the process, yes, and we might have thought that she was dead for just a moment, perhaps, but Aragorn has already healed her up like new. Well, perhaps not quite like new, but well enough for Aragorn.

When the Nazgul went for her uncle Theoden she just lost it! It was truly amazing, or so I hear from Merry. He was in on it, too, you know. Or so he says. All I know is that Pippin found him sprawled and half dead on the battlefield, and we found the both of them curled up there together several hours later. So...are they dating, or what?

I'm sorry, that was awful of me. My attitude has really gone down the tubes lately, hasn't it? I'm a bad, bad elf. Sigh. What I need is some cookies. Cookies always cheer me up. All I have to do is find a kitchen that isn't in shambles, bake some cookies, and go up to the healers' hall and share them with Eowyn and Merry. And Pippin, since he can't be gotten away from Merry. For the sake of politeness, I shall not comment on this again. Ah, cookies. I feel better now. ...And Gimli can't have any.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

I HATE that pissy little Ranger! He went and opened his mouth and tomorrow morning we march to Mordor to battle it out in front of the Black Gate! Something about distracting Sauron so Frodo and Sam can make it to the Ass Crack of Doom without getting caught. I swear to you, Diary, if that man makes one more wrong move in front of me today I'm going to have to ride back to Rivendell and tell Arwen that he died in battle. I just hope she doesn't think to check my saddlebags for body parts.

I was just coming down from the healers' hall when it happened. I was carrying a tray covered with cookie crumbs and empty milk glasses and thinking that maybe Daddy might not be so bad after all. At least he never tried to burn me alive, like Faramir's father. Faramir is Eowyn's new friend, and also our own dearly departed Boromir's little brother. The hobbits love him.

And then who, but who comes running up to me with this idiotic grin on his dirty, stubbly face and ruins my good mood? Aragorn! He's thrilled that his brilliant plan of mass suicide before the gates of Mordor was approved. Who approved it, you might ask? Well, I'll give you a hint. Either this old man really loves Frodo, or he has finally flipped and entered his second infancy, or he has something that severely needs compensated for. Or it could be all three at once. Have you guessed who yet, Diary?

I hate Gandalf.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

I'm stuck...with the dwarf...again. On the way to Mordor. And I probably won't be coming back. I'm beginning to be concerned about where, exactly, my life is headed.

Why, oh WHY didn't I run when I had the chance? Maybe it was the hobbits' pitiful little faces and bright, tearful puppy eyes when they found me frantically stuffing rations into my pack this morning. Maybe it was Aragorn's sniffled accusation of "You don't like me anymore!" as I was stalking toward the stables. Maybe it was simply Gimli running in circles around me, flapping his fat arms and screaming "Chicken! Chicken!" as I tossed the saddle on Arod. I'm not quite sure. But the fact remains that I am going to Mordor with the rest of them.

I had a dream last night, Diary, that I was standing on the cherry on top of an enormous cupcake with all the soldiers of Rohan and Gondor. Gandlaf was there, and Aragorn, and Gimli, and all the rest of our happy, dysfunctional little family. And all around us, in a great ring that should have been the chocolate frosting on the cupcake, were orcs. Thousands and thousands of orcs. Above us loomed a great, fiery eye, waiting to see when the cherry would be swallowed up by the frosting. Now either the powdered sugar that I used to bake my cookies yesterday went to my head, or that was a rather obvious premonition.

The one positive side to this whole experience is that I got my horse friend Arod back. After the mountain he did indeed go back to Theoden's troops, and I found him in the stables happily munching hay this morning. I almost want to set him loose and tell him to run like a fool back to Minas Tirith. I wish I could, not that I'm not already a fool. Between tongue-kissing an orc and marching to Mordor... I would choose the orc. Seriously.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Daddy;

We're completely surrounded by orcs. Mordor is hideous. I'm almost scared out of my sarcasm. But not quite.

Daddy, I want you to know something. If I die and you somehow come to be reading this diary, know that I am sorry I was such a bad son. I didn't really mean to make you pull out your hair. But I feel that the time has come at last for me to admit a few things.

I'm the one who put the itching powder in your tunic drawer. The half-crazed squirrel under the banquet table when you were discussing that big, important treaty with the men of Dale? That was me. The ink ring on the underside of your ceremonial crown? Me, as well. Pretty much everything bad that has happened in your hall since I was old enough to know what a prank was, and that was a LONG time ago...all of it me.

Remember all those times the other boys told you I was a spoiled little brat who was always trying to get them in trouble, and you never believed them, and they had to do cleaning duty at dinner for a week? Well, they weren't exactly lying. Tell them I'm sorry, too. They can have all my stuff.

Oh, well, um, I think a charge is about to commence. The first and last charge, as it were. Aragorn is yelling something to his people, no doubt something brave and heroic. Too bad the chances of anyone surviving to repeat it are slim.

Uh, Daddy? I love you. Really.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

I am not sure what to say.

I suppose I'll start with stating the obvious. We won. I'm still a little bewildered as to how that happened. What are the chances that Frodo would destroy the ring at the exact moment when the free armies of Middle-Earth were about to be destroyed by Sauron's forces? It's just too weird.

Aragorn has been dancing around me all day, waving his hands in my face and saying "I was right and you were wrong! Loser! Loser! Stuck up, pessimistic, pointy-eared LOSER! Ne-yaaah!" I nearly socked him.

Strangely, Gimli's attitude toward me has totally changed. He has begun to call me "laddie" instead of elf, and is treating me as one would treat a... well, a friend. I asked him about it and he looked surprised, asking me if I didn't remember saying we were friends right before the battle.

Now, I remember the battle. I remember fighting to get to Aragorn when he was being slowly squashed by a mammoth beast of war. I remember the eagles clashing with the Nazgul right over our heads. I remember the Black Gate and the tower of Barad-Dur crumbling to the ground, the very earth giving way under the feet of the orc armies, and Mount Doom exploding in a maelstrom of liquid hot magma. But I do not remember in any way insinuating that the dwarf and I are friends. He must have been hallucinating. But I must admit... it is rather nice to not have to think of witty comebacks for our fights anymore. Perhaps I'll just let it be and see how things progress.

Well, I think I shall go and see how Frodo and little Sam are getting along. It seems like they should be waking up soon. Heh, I wonder what they'll think when they wake up clean and dressed and in a comfortable bed. They'll probably think that they've died. Doubly so when they see Gandalf. I must go and see if they scream "GHOST!" when they lay eyes on him.

Oh, and I must also remember: carefully rub out that last entry. It no longer applies.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

I'm sorry I haven't written in awhile. Looking back over past entries, anything that has happened in the last few days seems positively tame. I really would hate to bore you, after all. No, I am not getting lazy!

Let me see. Over the past few days, since we returned to Minas Tirith, I have been extraordinarily preoccupied with three major activities: taking hot baths in my own private washroom, eating hot meals that contain no jerky, dried fruit, or lembas, and signing autographs. Life is good.

Can I tell you something, though? I am beginning to dread returning home. Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but I am afraid that after all I have been through in this last year, I will get bored when I go back to Mirkwood. Somehow I just don't think that greasing the hilt of Daddy's sword, or any of the countless other fun little games that used to delight me so, can compare to this new life I have become accustomed to so quickly.

I don't want to say goodbye to the hobbits. When will I ever see them again? It's not like elves can really just skip into the Shire and come calling at Bag End. And when are four hobbits going to get together and pop into Mirkwood for a friendly visit? Most likely never.

I don't want to leave Aragorn. Not only will I miss our petty little arguments dreadfully, but I shudder to think what will happen to the kingdom of men if that pissy little Ranger is left to his own devices to govern it. Just this morning I caught him sitting on the throne of Gondor, which he isn't allowed to do until he is formally crowned, mind you, making these horrible noises and pretending to be steering a runaway oliphant. As I said, Gondor is in for it now.

I don't want to be parted from Gandalf again. Thinking he was gone once was bad enough, but to not see him again by my own choosing? Not acceptable. I've also gotten fond of Faramir and Eowyn, the love birds. I don't want to miss their wedding.

And Gimli. By the Valar, what about Gimli? What will I do for entertainment? Who will I poke fun at when I'm feeling blue? What about our agreement to see Fangorn and the crystal caves at Helm's Deep together? Not that I really want to go nosing around some grubby caves, but still.

Suddenly I feel ill. Now I realize the meaning of what Daddy is always telling us: "Never get attached to mortals or animals. They all die someday."

But why is that, Diary? Why do only elves live so long, and why is it that only they can go across the sea and never look back whenever they get bored with Middle-Earth? Can it be that my people are... racist?

...Suddenly it all becomes clear. Pardon me Diary, but I have to go think about some things.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

I have come to a decision.

I won't leave Gimli behind! I refuse! I will not set one foot into that boat at the Gray Havens if the mud—uh, I mean dwarf isn't coming with us. I can almost see it now. I can see it so strongly that it's almost like a vision of what is to come.

"Legolas, get in the boat," Daddy will say.

"No!" I will cry, crossing my arms and pouting.

"No?" Daddy will ask in amazement at my refusal.

"Not without Gimli!" I will point firmly at the dwarf. "We're friends!"

Daddy's mouth will fall open at my audacity. "That's absurd! Elves and dwarves can't be friends. Now get in the boat." By this point all the other elves are staring.

"They can, we are, and I won't." I am moving dangerously close to a tantrum.

"Legolas, you're making a scene. Don't you dare embarrass me!" Most of the elves are trying to hide their laughter. Daddy is close to panic. "Now get...in...the boat!"

"I won't! You can't make me! You were always so mean to me, Daddy!" With that I fall flat on the dock, hair flying every which way, kicking and thrashing, screaming bloody orc slaughter. Eldar, I am a brat.

"LEGOLAS!" Daddy screams, looking ready to burst a vein. One of his advisors has to hold him back lest he topple over the rail in his fury. "This boat is pulling out in ten seconds, whether you are on it or not. I'm not telling you again, mister!"

"By the Valar, Thranduil, can't you handle your own son?" one of the other High Elves will snigger.

Daddy has his red face buried in his hands. He's about to crack, I can sense it. "Alright! Fine!" he finally bawls. "Bring the little mole, see if I care! Just get in the (long, obscene, non-translate-able stream of elvish) BOAT!"

"Yay!" I spring to my feet, all smiles once again. "Thank you, Daddy!" I toss the dwarf over the rail and hop aboard...never knowing what plans Daddy has of hurling Gimli into the waves when we are safely out to sea.

... My, my imagination is certainly churning today, isn't it? And no, I am not being overly dramatic!

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

Today was Aragorn's coronation. I resisted the overpowering impulse to jump up and scream "I object!" I might have done it if anyone had had the decency to say "Speak now or forever hold your peace." They will say it at weddings, but not at something so important as the crowning of the new king?

Speaking of weddings. Aragorn and Arwen are finally to be wed. Lord Elrond delivered the willing victim personally. I pity the poor girl, really I do.

I was congratulating him right after he had got his crown. We were doing our manly hand-to-shoulder, good-job-I-knew-you-could-do-it-never-doubted-you-thanks-for-always-being-there routine, when Elrond came waltzing up. Aragorn looked confused for a moment, bless his simple heart, but then Arwen stepped out from behind a large fan and gave him the big brown fawn eyes. I swear that man nearly knocked me off my feet getting past me to get to her. The thanks I get for being loyal to the end. Nearly trampled into the flagstones for a kiss. Sigh. He's only human, Legolas. Remember that.

After that things happened pretty fast. The hobbits bowed to Aragorn. Aragorn bowed to the hobbits. We all bowed to the hobbits. There was mass bowing all around. Then we had refreshments. The white tree was, and still is, blooming, scattering snow white petals all about the celebration. All in all, a good day.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dear Diary;

The day that I was dreading has finally come. The final breaking of the Fellowship of the Ring is upon us, and once again I am bereft and without antidepressants. Sigh.

The little hobbits are going back to the Shire. Gandalf is going with them for a while, but is then leaving to go...wherever it is Gandalf goes when he isn't anywhere else. Aragorn is picking up full kingly duties, and will of course be staying in Minas Tirith. And Gimli and I are going off to see the world. It is both happy and sad.

However...not everything is dark and gloomy. We have made a pact, not only the eight of us, but all our close friends as well, to meet at Rivendell for Yule. We have each sworn a sacred oath, upon our honor, to be there. I am a bit worried, as we swore this without checking to see if having the reunion at this particular location was okay with Lord Elrond, but Arwen has promised to butter him up.

Well, Diary, this is it. Time for me to saddle up Arod and depart upon my next journey.

I have decided to leave you in the library at Minas Tirith. One day, my records might prove useful for something. Oh, don't worry so much. If I have anything else worth writing down, I will use the new book. It is as if I am closing this particular chapter of my adventures, and moving on to a new one.

Looking ahead, I can only hope that what awaits me can even half compare to what we have already experienced. Farewell, my faithful Diary. And wish me luck. Remember, I am traveling with a dwarf.

**O.O.O.O.O**

The End.

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

Author's Note: Geez, I hate to see this one end. Thank you again, everyone, for your support. And remember...we celebrate Yule in Rivendell. Hope to see you there.


End file.
